


Insomnia

by faikitty



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Insomnia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Tickle Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sorey woke up Mikleo because he couldn't sleep, he hadn't planned for things to go like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't even played this game. Tumblr is ruining me. Apologies for any OOC-ness given that I only know Sorey's and Mikleo's personalities from the OVA and from what I've seen on Tumblr. I suspect you can expect more fics for these two once summer rolls around and we get a release in NA.
> 
> No clue when this takes place, seeing as I have yet to actually play the game. But I imagine that in this, they haven't had sex much, but they are in an established relationship. Coincidentally, this is probably the gentlest sex I've ever written. Hooray?

“Mikleo.” Sorey feels the other boy stir next to him as he wakes, and he would feel bad for waking him up, but… “I can’t sleep. Are you awake?”

Mikleo rolls over to face him, fixing him with a long, blank stare. “I am now,” he says with a yawn. “Why are _you_?”

“I can’t sleep,” Sorey repeats, and Mikleo sighs, closing his eyes again.

“So close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“I have been. It isn’t working.”

“Go read something then.”

“I tried that earlier.” And he did. He read until the words blurred together, but when he crawled back into bed by Mikleo’s side, he _still_ couldn’t sleep.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” Mikleo murmurs with another yawn. “I can’t very well force you to sleep.”

“I don’t know either,” Sorey admits. “Can we do something?”

“It’s the middle of the night… There’s nothing _to_ do. That’s why people _sleep_ at this time.”

“We could spar.”

Mikleo opens his eyes again to glare. “I’m not sparring with you. Go to _sleep_ , Sorey.”

“Telling me to sleep isn’t going to help,” Sorey complains, jabbing the other boy lightly in the stomach.

Mikleo twitches back half an inch at the action, and his eyes suddenly look more alert. “Do not—” he starts to warn Sorey, but the brunet’s face is already widening into a knowing grin.

“You _did_ say you didn’t want to spar with me,” Sorey reminds him as if it excuses the way his fingers are playing the base of Mikleo’s shirt. “This works instead.”

“Sorey—” The name dissolves into giggles as Sorey’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and glide over his skin. Mikleo _tries_ to fight back. He gets in a good three pokes in the stomach before Sorey clambers on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them down, legs wrapping around Mikleo’s to keep them from moving either. Then Sorey is _merciless_. His fingers skip lightly over Mikleo’s hips and scuttle up over the seraph’s sensitive sides. He can feel Mikleo’s muscles jump at his touch even through his bouts of laughter, and he uses that to guide him, slowing for a split second to give Mikleo a false sense of security then speeding up again. He can feel the sadistic grin on his face as Mikleo squirms helplessly under him.

“I yield, I yield!” Mikleo laughs, butting his head against Sorey’s shoulder. “Stop! I-I’ll spar with y-you!”

Sorey releases Mikleo’s wrists, would let the other boy have his revenge if he wanted, but he doesn’t _stop_. Mikleo is laughing to hard to do much of _anything_ ; his fingers close on Sorey’s upper arms in a half-hearted attempt at stopping him instead, but he can’t manage any force behind the push. Sorey, with both hands free to attack his victim now, only grows more ruthless, tickling anywhere he can reach. When his fingers land on Mikleo’s sides again, the seraph’s hands fall to the ground as if he’s forgotten they exist, his whole body racked with laughter.

“Sorey, _please_.”

“What was that? Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Sorey replies, his smirk only widening at Mikleo’s begging. Maybe he _should_ stop. This is hardly helping him sleep, after all. It’s _fun_ though, _far_ more fun than sleeping, so he lets his fingers skate down over Mikleo’s waist and back up to his armpits.

“Sorey, let me up,” Mikleo pants, and the brunet still doesn’t _want_ to. But Mikleo is shaking beneath him, face red and eyes teary from laughing, and there’s something about that that makes Sorey’s fingers still and the grin fade from his face.

Sorey doesn’t really _want_ to sleep now.

Mikleo gives him an odd look when he doesn’t move, his face slowly returning to a normal color as he catches his breath. When his eyes meet Sorey’s, there’s a flash of understanding, and his face grows flushed for a whole different reason.  “You should… let me up,” he repeats quietly, less certainty in the words now.

“No,” Sorey murmurs, partly because he doesn’t want to and partly because he isn’t sure if he _can_. His body feels like it’s on fire, painfully aware of every part of his body that’s in contact with Mikleo’s. His hands are still resting on the other boy’s hips, still as if they’re stuck to his body. If Mikleo really wanted to move, he could easily, but he isn’t, seems frozen except for the blinking of his eyes. Another blink and he looks away, but Sorey can feel his skin heating up beneath his fingertips.

“Sorey.” This time it’s a warning and a plea at the same time, and when Mikleo bites his lip and looks up at him, Sorey gives up on the idea of sleeping.

Sorey doesn’t so much kiss him as let his head fall onto his, their noses bumping together because both of them are still a little tired and neither is terribly experienced with this sort of thing. Mikleo tastes like vanilla, and Sorey almost wants to laugh at how obvious that is. But Mikleo’s lips part for him immediately, and when his tongue slips between the other boy’s lips, Sorey doesn’t want to laugh anymore, doesn’t want to make any sound at all because it would mean pulling away from him. He can feel how rigid Mikleo is beneath him, his mouth the only pliable part of his body right now. The rest of his body is stiff with the effort of not pushing up against Sorey, so the brunet does the exact opposite and lets _his_ hips grind against Mikleo. He’s rewarded with a sharp gasp against his lips, and when his hands drift down Mikleo’s sides, they draw forth a shudder of wanting rather than laughter.

That’s when Sorey _knows_ he’s lost.

He dips lower, plants kisses along Mikleo’s jawline to his ears and back, and the seraph tilts his head back willingly to bare his neck to him. Sorey is gentler now than when he was tickling him, no threat of teeth to his kisses. He knows Mikleo’s pale skin bruises easily, and he doesn’t want to leave marks, so there’s no biting, no sucking, only the light contact of his lips on the other boy’s collarbone.

He can feel Mikleo’s pulse quicken when his hand falls lower, reaching down to palm him through his pants, and Mikleo rocks up into his hand like he can’t keep from it. Sorey shifts and leans off of Mikleo to support himself on his own hand instead of the other boy’s chest, his legs still between Mikleo’s. With his other hand he undoes Mikleo’s pants, and the seraph gives a sigh as he’s freed, eyes fluttering shut when Sorey’s fingers wrap around his cock. It takes only a few seconds to find the slow-build rhythm that makes Mikleo melt at his touch, makes him give a hum of pleasure at the friction drawing over him.

Then Mikleo’s eyes open abruptly, and he turns his head to look up at Sorey. “What about—?” he starts, but his protests give way to a moan as Sorey thumbs over the head of his cock. The brunet doesn’t _care_ about himself right now; Mikleo is _much_ more important. The seraph’s breath catches audibly on his next inhale, head falling off to the side as his eyes shut again, visibly accepting the arrangement.

It may be dark, but the moonlight is enough for Sorey to study Mikleo’s face. The seraph is beautiful; there’s no denying that, and in the soft light, face relaxed with pleasure, he looks _stunning_. The scattered light through the windowpane paints his face like fluid brush strokes, his eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheeks. His mouth is askew, soft moans leaving his lips as Sorey’s fingers pull over his cock, and the curve of his lips makes the brunet want to kiss him again.

“You’re beautiful.” The words come as a surprise to Sorey when he says them because he hadn’t even realized he was talking, but he doesn’t try to take them back because they’re _true_ —albeit somewhat out of place given the circumstances.

Mikleo’s face goes scarlet, even darker than when he was struggling to breathe for laughing five minutes ago. “Don’t say something like that right now, idiot.” He lifts a hand as if he’s going to smack Sorey, but then his body goes taut and his fingers latch onto Sorey’s sleeve instead. The whine that leaves his mouth in the next second sounds like a command, and Sorey obeys it, kissing him again with more fervor, nipping at his lower lip up to the edge of pain. Mikleo groans against his mouth, and Sorey trails his lips over the other boy’s throat again, following the line of his shirt as far as it will go.

Mikleo’s cock twitches in his hand as Sorey adjusts his grip, fingers running slick over the top, and the brunet feels the trembling of his body like an oncoming storm. He jerks up hard, coaxes Mikleo on until the seraph can no longer find the strength to arch up to meet him. Mikleo’s thighs press in tight around Sorey’s hips as he comes over his fingers, and then he goes boneless and breathless, grip on Sorey’s shirt coming loose and his hand falling over his forehead instead.

Mikleo looks so relaxed now that Sorey feels almost guilty. The seraph was sound asleep when Sorey woke him up; it’s only natural that he would _really_ want to sleep now, and Sorey doesn’t mind if he does. He sits up and starts to stand, but a hand fists in the back of his shirt and pulls him back into bed. He lands with a yelp, and Mikleo straddles his hips, a brow raised in wry curiosity.

“Where are you going?” the seraph asks, undoing Sorey’s pants and sliding a hand beneath the elastic of his underwear.

Sorey opens his mouth to reply then closes it, swallows hard, and looks away, embarrassed. “Thought I’d let you go back to sleep,” he says, although the words sound foolish even to him.

Mikleo sighs and leans down to kiss him. “I can sleep _after_ this,” he murmurs against Sorey’s lips, fingers sliding over Sorey’s cock.

“Mikleo,” he groans, and then the power of speech leaves him. Mikleo’s thumb fits against the inner curve of Sorey’s hips, and when the seraph licks his lips, Sorey turns his gaze to the ceiling, watching the shadows instead of Mikleo because it’s too much to _see_ him go down.

Sorey forgets how to breathe at the first touch of Mikleo’s tongue. The other boy can’t take him all the way into his mouth but he doesn’t _need_ to. It’s more than enough for Sorey when his cock first slides past the other boy’s lips, slick friction overwhelming him within seconds. Mikleo’s lips close over him and he sucks hard, cheeks hollowed as he pulls Sorey ever deeper into his mouth, a low hum in his throat that sends vibrations over Sorey’s cock. It’s all Sorey can do not to rut up into his mouth, to fight the urge to let his hips lift off the bed. Mikleo doesn’t seem bothered by the action, huffing through his nose and swallowing him further, and Sorey knows he isn’t going to last.

He comes embarrassingly quickly, shadows on the ceiling exploding into stars. He means to pull away first, but he doesn’t realize what’s happening until he’s pushed past the brink, and when his vision returns he sees white on Mikleo’s skin. He jerks away hastily in delayed self-consciousness, pulls his shirt over his shoulders, and shoves the fabric toward Mikleo. The seraph takes it with an amused expression, wiping off his face then curling up next to Sorey again.

“Sorry,” Sorey apologizes, hands over his eyes until Mikleo pulls them away.

“It’s all right. But if you’re really sorry, then go to sleep,” the seraph murmurs, kissing him lightly and resting his head against Sorey’s chest. “Think you can do that?”

“Yeah.” It’s Sorey’s turn to yawn now, Mikleo’s turn to smile. “Night, Mikleo.”

“Goodnight, Sorey.”

He falls asleep easily after that.


End file.
